Breathe
by Robin1231
Summary: Short interactions between Eugene Roe and various members of Easy Company. AU at parts.


**Disclaimer: I do not own "Band of Brothers". I have the utmost respect for the men of Easy Company and others like them.**

**Summary: Short interactions between Eugene Roe and various members of Easy Company.**

**Warnings: Violence, Language. Also, AU at the last part. Couldn't help myself!**

**Also, sorry, repost cause of stupid formatting**

_Breathe_

He wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a wide smear of blood in its place. His teeth sunk deeper into his trembling lower lip as he lowered his head into a pillow of snow. His hands trembled in exhaustion and adrenaline and fear—the paralyzing fear. It was all quiet. He hated the quiet.

He blew out a sigh of hot breath, instantly crystallizing into cloudy mist in front of him, obscuring his vision and then pushed himself up from the snow. He walked along a trampled path made by booted feet not ten minutes before, rushing back to the snow covered tents they called base. He had remained, placing fingers alongside jaw lines, not daring to hope. He had remained, granting solace by dragging fingertips over opened eyelids, pulling them shut as one draws shutters closed. And he had remained to slide cold, metal dogtags over hard helmets and burned cold flesh. They jingled in his satchel now, a haunting melodic reminder of the fallen, lost, and failed.

His feet crunched in the snow softly. Birdsong broke the silence, lifting his spirits, if just by a hair—birds rarely sang here anymore.

The sun glistened; the rays reflected off the white snow through the patches that the artillery rounds had created through the boughs of the trees overhead. He absently let his calloused hands softly caress the bark of a nearby tree as he passed by without stopping. It was pockmarked with bullet holes.

He let out a low whistle, soft and slow, painting the words in his head upon the snowy wind. The snow was so white that it was almost blinding. It was so pure, so clean. So unlike him. Guilt and failure painted him red.

He strode through the camp of littered foxholes and canvas tents caving under the amount of snow accumulated along the sides. His head was bowed, eyes glued to his feet, and fists crammed into his pockets, knuckles brushing the bottom seams of his fatigue jacket. He remained pensive, lost in thought until a white ball arced through the sky, exploding against his chest, covering him with white powder and flinging cold crystals against his face. A loud guffaw burst through the air accompanied by a raucous shout.

"GOTCHA DOC!"

Gene whirled around, a bemused smirk creeping across his face, until he stood face to face with a wildly grinning Babe Heffron.

"You do realize we're grown men, right Babe?" Gene asked, arching an eyebrow with practiced nonchalance. The younger man practically bounced towards him. The red-head Philadelphian nodded, his grin widening.

"Of course I do. I just think you need to lighten up a bit Gene. You look like your puppy was run over by a car or somethin'."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was a train," Gene deadpanned, his face sinking back into a somberness betrayed only by his sparkling eyes. Babe rolled his eyes at Doc's customary jab of sarcasm and punched the medic in the arm.

" 'Ey, take it easy kid."

"Aw, shaddup Gene."

"Look who's talkin'. You never shut your mouth."

Babe good-naturedly waved his hand dismissively and slung his arm across Gene's small shoulders, leading him towards the center of the camp. They both sauntered towards the chow line, joking about the state and age of the beans Joe DiMangus held in his cast iron pot.

Gene sat quietly beside Babe, on a tarp haphazardly spread across a mound of snow, as the red-haired man jostled the men beside him and poked fun at Guarnere and Toye and whoever the fuck else he saw. The tiny grin painted across Gene's face slowly grew, slowly became real. His dark blue eyes sparkled and he just breathed.

* b * b *

The air seemed to be frozen in his chest as he stood before the wreckage of the church. His arms hung limply at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching aimlessly. His teeth ground together as he slowly bent over to pluck the blue kerchief out of the twisted metal and shattered rock. Voices propelled him forward into the jeep waiting on the outskirts of the bombarded city—no longer the place of angels and protectors. His eyes remained locked on the scrap of fabric twisted between his blood streaked fingers, marred further by sweat and ash. A shuddering sigh tore itself from between his lips and he allowed his head to rock forward so that his chin rested softly against his chest. Tears clung to the edges of his eyelashes, but they did not fall. He could not mar Renee's memory in that way.

Gene set his jaw and picked his head up as the jeep bumped and leaped its way into the camp. Eyes seemed to stare as he hopped out of the vehicle, hands jammed uselessly in his pockets. Hope dwindled.

Captain Winters approached.

"Gene, where's the supplies?" came his soft voice, tinged with concern for the small Cajun man before him and with a silent resignation that cut Eugene to the core.

"Gone," he managed to sputter out through the wad of cotton that seemed to form deep in his throat. "Everything's gone." He tore his eyes away from the piercing gaze. "The city was—was bombed. There's nothing left Dick." The desperation crept into his voice. The captain blew a soft breath of disappointment through his lips, looked down, and, after a brief moment, nodded in acknowledgement. The two men who held the weight of the company and the world on their shoulders stood in silence, side by side, drawing strength from the other, just breathing.

Nobody dared to interrupt.

* b * b *

Ralph's breath quickened as he stuffed his small fingers deep into his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut fervently as the trees and burning lead rained down upon their heads. Everything was wrong. It was so so wrong. He didn't belong here. Screams relentlessly pushed their way past his barriers and shook him to the core.

He stammered out wisps of prayers as artillery rounds dove deep through the canopy of trees and through bone, flesh, and earth. His body rocked slightly back and forth as he imagined a place away. Just away. It wasn't specific. He simply would rather be anywhere—ANYWHERE—other than the Ardennes at this very moment.

A choked sob tore itself from his throat as he heard the cries of his fellow soldiers. He cursed his cowardice.

He was suddenly yanked out of his foxhole by a strong arm, lifting him like a sack of potatoes and thrown into the snowy bank. He turned to protest—screams, tears, whatever it took—but that cry was smothered by a body throwing itself across his own. The world exploded; shook and collapsed beside him. Ralph gasped heavily and clutched at his chest as Gene rolled off him, groaning in pain.

Ralph's eyes instantly went to his recently occupied foxhole, now blasted to smithereens. It finally hit him.

"Gene!" He spluttered in panic. "Gene, please be okay PLEASE! I'm sorry, God, I'm sorry—"

"Ralphie!" The deep Louisianan accent punctuated its way through Ralph's panicked pleas. A gentle hand took hold of Ralph's shoulder. Calming blue-black eyes locked onto his own, and he breathed. Gene smiled softly. "Attaboy," he said, squeezing Ralph's shoulder. Ralph smiled slightly, and forced out another breath, calming himself down further.

His spirits were lifted at the sight of the pride in Gene's eyes.

"Alright kid," the Cajun began, hand still on Ralph's shoulder. "Time to go." The fear smeared itself on his face once again. Gene softly grabbed the back of Ralph's helmet, and forced the young medic to look him in the eye once again.

"'ey. HEY. Ralph. It's okay. Calm down."

"How do you do it?" Ralph croaked, self loathing beginning to root deep within his heart. "How are you so goddamn brave Gene?"

Eugene smiled softly amidst the exploding shells and cascading rain of fire and metal. And even before he opened his mouth, Spina knew. He could follow this man through hell itself. He could believe in him because Eugene Roe cared only for the man next to him. He would die protecting and saving a man he'd never met. He was the knights of old, he was the soldier Ralph had pretended to be as a young child. He was the difference. Before dashing back into the fray to save another life, Gene smiled and said:

"You're all worth it."

* b * b *

Gene walked silently through the midnight haze, picking his way softly through throngs of sleeping men in holes and around craters dug deep into the earth, smoke still steadily rising from the bottom of the pit. His eyes raked back and forth, assessing the damage to his men, mentally prioritizing lacerations and scrapes, calculating the costs and allocating the supplies where they would do the most good.

He sighed deeply and dragged a hand across his face, calloused palm rubbing against the thin patch of stubble forming along his jaw line. His tired eyes drooped, rimmed in red from sleep deprivation and cold. He pulled his satchel close, swinging it around from his hip to his front and opened the leather bag, creating a mental inventory. A deep sigh pulled itself from his throat again.

He lifted his head to the sky, eyes fixed on the gilded silver of the stars overhead, visible through the cracking branches of the snow-capped pines. His chapped lips narrowed and folded in on themselves as he stood, riveted to that single solitary spot, as snow began to drift slowly down to rest on his face.

His brow furrowed as he tilted his head back down.

"Fucked up, innit?" came a muttered, soft voice to his left. Joe Toye sat on a rotten log, rifle haphazardly laying across his lap, caressing the metal with a gloved hand. The man's dark eyes were upraised to where Gene's eyes had rested moments before. Gene sunk down beside him with a groan.

"What is Joe?" Joe flicked his cigarette free of ash and placed the stub between his lips and let it rest upon his bottom lip with practiced ease. He didn't respond quite yet. Instead, he held out a spare cigarette to the medic, eyes never aimed at the other man. Gene hesitated before taking the offered cigarette. Toye sighed in contentment and settled back down, still staring up at the stars.

"That we're so damn close."

"To what?" Joe shrugged and used his head to point upwards.

"That." Roe removed the now-smoldering roll of paper from his lips and turned towards Toye in confusion.

"I must say Joe," Gene started, Louisianan accent interjecting his speech. "I'm not quite sure I understand."

"You do," Toye said in his flat tone. He finally dragged his eyes from the sky to the small man beside him. "We don't belong here Doc. We're so damn close either way, you know? See those fuckin' stars up there? We're so fucking close. Those damn lights. I can see them same damn things at home you know?"

Gene sighed. "I know." And he did. He felt the same way whenever he remembered the church and blue head scarves.

The two men sat there. And smoked. And just breathed.

When Gene woke up the next morning, the only thought coursing through his brain was that Joe had had two legs.

* b * b *

Blood bubbled across the thin line of his mouth as he lay stunned in the snow. Booted feet raced towards him. He silently willed them away—the sniper was still in place.

He vaguely heard Babe's frantic yells to "Stay there Doc! Don't move Doc!" and "I'm coming Gene!". The burning sensation lodged in his chest deepened and he managed a hoarse "NO BABE."

The younger man halted in his tracks, tears streaming unashamedly down his face, arm outstretched to his best friend. A bullet struck the snow where he would have been, but even that close call didn't register. All that mattered was the fact that Doc Roe was lying in snow bank, halo of blood stretching out around his head, dying. Babe screamed Gene's name again and went to retrieve the man, only to be forced back again by German gunfire.

The panic overwhelmed him again as it had watching Julian die. But this time, this time everything was different. This time it was Gene. He threw himself down into the snow and frantically crawled towards the fallen soldier. Fear washed over the young Philadelphian—fear of losing another man, fear of losing his best friend.

He had almost reached the medic when a bullet ripped itself through his thigh, eliciting a coarse scream and a stream of curses. He pressed a hand across the gaping hole and gritted his teeth. With the other hand, Babe dragged himself along under heavy gunfire until he finally reached the other man. Panting heavily, Babe curled himself around Gene's head as a mortar round exploded nearby. After a moment, he wrapped his fingers around Gene's small wrist and pulled until both were shielded by a bale of hay.

Gene's breath was rasping in his chest and Babe just knew.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and rolled Gene over so his head was cushioned by Babe's good leg. The Cajun was pale. Babe gently slid Gene's helmet off his jet black hair. His lip trembled as he held Gene. Held his best friend as he faded.

"Babe…" a small voice came.

"Yeah buddy, I'm here," came the tearful response.

"It's hard…to breathe." His eyes stayed closed.

"I know Gene, it'll get easier soon," Babe whispered.

"Babe…?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"Did I fail?"

"No Gene, you didn't."

"Never did…?"

"Never."

"Did…did I save you…?" Tears rolled freely, words caught densely as Babe recalled his feeling of horror as he'd watched Gene dive in front of him, taking the sniper's bullet straight in the chest. The bullet meant for him.

"Yeah Gene. You saved me." Blue-black eyes opened, and a smile—the first real smile Babe had ever seen—graced the dying man's face.

"Then…I guess I…I did…my job…huh?" It was getting harder to breathe. Gene's voice dropped into a whisper, a thin line of sticky blood trickling from the side of his mouth. A sob bubbled from Babe's mouth.

"Yeah Gene. You did." The smile stayed on Gene's face as he drifted into unconsciousness. Amidst the battle, amidst Dike's failure and Speirs' ascension, amidst the capture of Foy, Edward Heffron lowered his head, violent sobs resounding in his throat, onto Eugene Roe's chest. He listened as the older man breathed. _In, Out, In, Out_. As constant as the river flow and as dependable as the sunrise. His fingers wound themselves into Gene's jacket, drawing comfort from the medic. Gene was always willing to give it.

"So damn close."

Babe's head lifted.

"What Gene?"

"So damn close…to the stars." Gene's eyes closed. His beautiful, haunted, expressive blue-black eyes closed softly and silently. And his breath stopped suddenly. And for once, for once something was forever.

* b * b *

Winters strode through the battleground, hands shaking in disgust. He did this. He killed his men the second he'd given in and allowed Dike to lead. He stalked around the town, wrapped up in self loathing.

And then stopped.

It had been quite a while since he'd seen any of Easy. He saw I company and whoever the fuck else was still around. A cold feeling of dread washed over Dick; a shiver passed over his body that had nothing to do with the icy snow. He turned on his heel and ran. Where, he did not know, but instinct brought him directly to his boys, heads bowed.

Winters' heart broke as he heard muffled sniffs and sobs. The men slowly took notice of their NCO and parted out of respect.

The snow was dyed red; saturated with blood. Ralph Spina knelt beside two frozen bodies. Gene was lying prone, a soft smile shining through cracked lips and a bloody face. His hands were lying outstretched, palms upwards, still stained with the blood of others. And there, lying across his chest, fingers still curled into tough fabric, was Babe Heffron. Spina looked up with tear tracks down his face.

Dick could barely trust his voice.

"Gene?"

"Gone," came the thick reply. A man in the back turned away, shoulders shaking.

"And Babe?"

"The femoral artery."

Winters' heart contracted. He looked around at his broken band of warriors and bowed his head.

"Lord," he began. "grant that I—" a voice joined him quietly. "That I may not so much seek," more voices joined until the entirety of Easy was praying aloud. "To be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love with all my heart."

Winters bowed his head, bent down and lifted the small Cajun medic into his arms. Someone behind him picked up Babe. Silently, the company drifted through the town, led by a captain with a dead medic in his arms.

It hurt them all to breathe.

_**Hey y'all. Sorry for all the dramatics. It's my style. Review please, even if it's to tell me I'm a crappy writer! Thanks.**_

_**-Robin1231**_


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